Monday 14 April 2008 Things I like: five-star orgasms
Yes, you're reading that correctly – last night I did indeed manage to fire up the ol' firehose and drown the burning desire in my belly with a rather capacious volume of semen. Fuck me, it was good. I was left to my own devices while the family were out and about – not sure where; don't really care, if I'm honest – for an hour or so and I just went to it. I'm not sure I should put this into too much detail because it would simply be gratuitous; however, for the sake of completeness I will make a few notes.
So I was left alone and pretty much as soon as I was sure they weren't going to come back for something, I stripped down to just my old water-resistant watch and my new tan, and I lay back on my bed, propped up on my pillow with my knees bent and legs spread. A small tube of Nivea Visage facial moisturiser is what I use as an aid when not in the shower, since unlike Foreign Parts as discussed by people on teh interwebz you can't just buy lube at any old store here in .za. How repressed are we as a society? I didn't even need any of my visual material this time around, nor even rude thoughts of MM or anyone else – it's been twenty five days since I could last do this; ridiculous at my age. I've been getting titanium-hard just doing mundane things like eating cornflakes for breakfast, so pretty much as I was unvelcroing – it is a word if I say it is – my boardies my cock was already getting up to its full 6-and-a-bit-actually-closer-to-7-really inches and making a fairly impressive tent in my undies, which I then whipped off with a theatrical flourish (and I'll admit that I might have even sounded a small and triumphant but poorly-executed imitation fanfare) and the resultant satisfying slap of big, manly erection bouncing back up against stomach. I've neglected the weekly haircut for the last couple sessions, too, so I got a good look at my macho pelvic stubble while prepping with a small, pea-sized dollop of the cream all over my bits and pieces. I know it's weird to be turned on looking at yourself, but cards on the table – I definitely was.
I was ready to really take it slow and work myself up to breaking point a few times before letting go, but I kinda overshot the point of no return on the second go already and was forced to quickly crank it up and hold off for as many seconds as I could (five, maybe; no need to get the Guinness guys on the phone) while clenching my toes and pistoning the ol' elbow up to max rpm when it hit.
J3sus, did it hit. Pow! The first noisy wave lifted me up to an almost sitting position, the second even noisier wave nearly knocked me off my bed, and I narrowly avoided being blinded by a wayward blob of flying come, fired up like it was propelled by NASA's own throbbing six inch crotch-rocket sitting on my launch gantry which happens to quite strongly resemble a Batman duvet cover. The following waves – I lost count, if I'm honest, but they were numerous – hit like a series of punches to the gut and when I had finally stopped moaning and recovered enough breath to sit up again and look at the damage, there was semen everywhere. Oh my days, what a massacre; it was like Cumageddon, which was only in the Director's Cut of the Book of Revelation. Easily five or six times my usual volume, thick and warm and all over the fucking place – in my pubes, dripping down the shaft, all over both my hands, my treasure trail, several spermy falls cascading down both sides of my torso onto the bed below (Pro tip: always lie on a towel, kids!), and even some up on my neck in a veritable string of gooey pearls, just like in the porn. The one which nearly blinded me had left an artful splat on the wall behind my head and was slowly stretching away under the inexorable effects of gravity, heading leisurely down to the carpet.
It took a while to clean everything up since there was so much of it; I was just getting done and thinking about Round 2 when there was a knock on the door. I wasn't going to answer, but I did in the end. Quickly pulled on my boardies and went through and opened it and there was a youngish slightly older guy, probably about 23 or so, holding an envelope addressed to my mom. Turns out he's the new neighbour and they got some of our mail on Friday so he was bringing it over. Mom has mentioned them a couple of times, but this was my first meeting with either of them – a young couple, Cecilia and, would you believe it, another Trevor (better looking than my Trevor, too!). He introduces himself, sticks out a hand, I do likewise and as just before he takes it I notice I've missed a spot and before I can do anything about it New Trevor has some few million of my sperm swimming up his fingers with their tiny flagella powering them through a little bit of leftover man-jam (thanks to Cell Biology 100 for the term flagellum, a sort-of whip-like tail used as a propeller amongst a select few cell types; not to be confused with cilia, which are tiny hair-like fronds which gently oscillate in a "wave `em like you just don't care!" sort of manner. There are no cilia on sperm, of course, but you knew that already). Not sure if he realised my hand was a bit wet or not; if he did I hope he didn't put two and two together, and I also hope I didn't have a wet spot on the front of my nice ice-blue boardies since I was kinda freeballing at the time because I didn't bother to dress properly when he knocked. He doesn't strike me as the sort of guy to have ever had another man's come on him, so there's something he can strike off his Bucket List, eh? Perhaps I should tell him that.
Perhaps not.
Anyway, he seems like a nice enough guy. We shot the shit for a bit and he mentioned that when they get settled he was thinking about joining the gym, so I did my part and tried to sell him on mine as the better option of the two chains operating near enough to our neighbourhood – I get three free months' additional membership for every referral, so why not? We're going to head up there probably sometime this week, him as my guest since the gym allows you to bring someone in for a free session once a month, so he can check the place out. He's pretty big and in pretty good nick and I presume thus that he knows what he's doing in a gym; if we end up going together and he can help me build a decent routine it will be a plus for me, that's for sure.
In other news, Kim's party was largely unremarkable – disappointing, I'm sure you'll agree; the pay-off being hardly worth the setup of a few entries ago – and proof of the pudding, assuming that you're attempting to eat a sweetly flavoured helping of "if you don't expect too much, you can't be let down." I did get to introduce my old mates to some of my varsity mates – turns out Tim from the football side and Gareth kinda know each other already from doing Economics tutorials in the same group – but Trevor wisely didn't scale-up the charm after meeting Kim's Paul, Victoria didn't try to get all holier than all of us, and Paul's crew kept mostly to themselves and didn't murder anyone even slightly. Other Paul did remind me about needing a car stolen for the insurance, though, but on the whole it was all a bit of a let-down. Oh, and Brent and his penchant for producing his monster schlong in the locker room didn't attend, either. I can't imagine he'd have flopped it out during the party, mind, but I'm also not going to pretend I wasn't hoping.
That aside, it's a new quarter. Same course and prac schedule as previously for the next three months; I'll have a few different modules and stuff in the second semester, but it's status quo for now. And the football league starts up next week – Dulce and Cubana are looking forward to it. Thanks to Ian, I'm ready for it. Happy times!
On the minus side, no more sessions needed with Ian. Sad times.
-C